"Why don't you get one?" Marrier suggested.
"Do you really think I could?" asked Carlo Trent, as if the
possibility were shimmering far out of his reach like a rainbow.
"Rather!" smiled Harrier. "I don't mind laying a fiver that Mr.
Machin's dressing-gown came from Drook's in Old Bond Street." But
instead of saying "Old" he said "Ehoold."
"It did," Edward Henry admitted.
Mr. Marrier beamed with satisfaction.
"Drook's, you say," murmured Carlo Trent. "Old Bond Street," and wrote
down the information on his shirt cuff.
Rose Euclid watched him write.
"Yes, Carlo," said she. "But don't you think we'd better begin to talk
about the theatre? You haven't told me yet if you got hold of Longay
on the 'phone."
"Of course we got hold of him," said Marrier. "He agrees with me that
'The Intellectual' is a better name for it."
Rose Euclid clapped her hands.
"I'm so glad!" she cried. "Now what do _you_ think of it as a name,
Mr. Machin--'The Intellectual Theatre'? You see it's most important we
should settle on the name, isn't it?"
It is no exaggeration to say that Edward Henry felt a wave of cold
in the small of his back, and also a sinking away of the nevertheless
quite solid chair on which he sat. He had more than the typical
Englishman's sane distrust of that morbid word 'Intellectual.' His
attitude towards it amounted to active dislike.
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